From Sea to Sea
by Mesua Ferrea
Summary: A series of Mapletea drabbles based off of prompts.
1. Mellow

A/N: My friends and I thought it would be fun if we challenged ourselves to write 100 drabbles based on prompts. So what the heck, I'm going to write this thing. As for those waiting for an update on Sins and Virtues and Of Bashful Idiots and Strange Complexes, it's going to happen. I'll only update this thing sporadically so don't expect too much.

Warnings: Language, potential OOCness, Canadian spelling, updates at random times, etc…

Characters: Fem!Canada (I like genderbending Canada. Don't judge me.) and UK

Pairings: Not USUK if you really want to know

Word count: 624

Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia or a pocket watch. I want one.

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><p><strong>Mellow<strong>

_Because those days of relaxation are too few and end too fast_

* * *

><p>It was quiet in the countryside manor in the English county of Lincolnshire. Rain was gently pattering against the casement windows and the tiny spheres of water gathered on the clear glass slowly drizzled down leaving no signs that it was there in the first place. The lush grass and vibrant gardens surrounding the manor, as if it was from a fairytale, absorbed the light shower under the platinum coloured clouds from above.<p>

It was past usual afternoon tea time within the Kirkland estate and the wet weather would never dampen Arthur's spirit to have a stroll in his abundant gardens after his midday snack. His manor was his breakaway from reality and he rarely frequented the place as his duties of a nation took priority. It was absolutely absurd for a nation to shirk their duties so the Briton, being the busy nation he was, rarely, if ever, had any true time to enjoy himself. The same could be said for other nations as some could never find themselves abandoning their duties. It was of a delightful chance that both Madison and Arthur were able to have their one day of peace together. This prompted the gentleman to invite his (soon-to-be) lady for a relaxing day with him under the (what should have been) pleasant weather. It did not work out as the man had planned it, but he could not allow one minor miscalculation to spoil his retreat.

Instead of taking a stroll within his vast gardens under an umbrella, the Englishman cuddled up on the elaborate rug near the fireplace, a book in hand, with Madison curled up beside him. After their session of tea in the parlour that overlooked the magnificent grounds at the back of the manor, Madison insisted that they spend the remainder of their afternoon in the grand library of the manor. Out of all the rooms, the library was the most used as Arthur quite liked company of books so he could not help but give into her suggestion. He read books from all over the ages while his mystical friends hovered and enjoyed the read with him, but doing this with another person was rather comfortable.

It was quite admirable that Madison quietly appreciated the book with him. She silently relished in the styles of Wilkie Collins and the mysteries shrouded in the book, The Woman in White. Arthur couldn't help but be distracted as he watched her contently read the book to herself, to which his thoughts were often cut off by questions of whether they flip the page or not, and smooth fair hands would meet rough and calloused ones as they tried to turn the page. The jolt of that single touch caused them both to sputter indignantly while a warm blush would settle across their faces. Soon the small and brief contacts no longer startled the two as they continued to read. Only the grandfather clock and its steady pendulum and constant ticking, and dripping rain with slight shuffles that appeared every once in a while from Madison snuggling with Arthur could be heard.

Time slowly passed and the rate of turning the pages dragged out longer after what seemed to be an eternity. Both were slowly nodding off. The Canadian had rested her head in the nook of Arthur's neck and her arms gently embraced the man, bringing her even closer to him. In return, the Englishman rested his head on hers and slowly intertwined his strong legs with her delicate ones. Eventually one arm was wrapped around Madison's shoulders bringer her into his chest but by that time, the two were wrapped in pleasant dreams. All while the rain was pattering in the mellow afternoon at the manor house.

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><p>AN: I feel somewhat content with this. That's an odd feeling.

Comments, criticisms and questions are welcome.


	2. Eternal

A/N: What is this madness? I basically write a whomping 10 000 word chapter in two days and I still have the energy to write some more. Something must be wrong with me.

Though... I do feel bad for not updating my other story. I'm so sorry. Forgive me my readers. It'll be updated... soon... when I get the inspiration to continue.

Warnings: Language, historical inaccuracy, potential OOCness, Canadian spelling, updates at random times, etc…

Characters: Fem!Canada and UK

Pairings: Would you like some maple syrup with your tea?

Word count: 1277

Disclaimers: I don't own Hetalia.

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><p><strong>Eternal<strong>

_Tied together by a thread so strong that not being with you is truly impossible_

* * *

><p>A faint dripping sound resounded in the eerily quiet tower. Somewhere in the tower there had to have been a leak as the droplets of water steadily dropped onto the cobblestone at a constant pace. Each slowly absorbed by the stone as if they never existed in the first place.<p>

The tower was unbearable and trapped the single prisoner that dwelled within its confines, isolating her from the rest of the world. The single room she was kept in was lavishly furbished and was something no normal prisoner would possess. The single window that brought stray rays of light into the room was barred by the cold metal of steel. The only exit was locked at all times and guards littered at the entrance across her side very much like Cerberus. They only followed the command of the ruler of this strange hell.

Madison was restricted to the confines of the room. The window was barred and cursed which made her a coveted bird in a golden cage. The door, besides being well guarded, was also intricately laced with other, more powerful spells, which kept her in. It would have been fitting for her to be shackled to the walls or bed but her master simply dreaded the idea enclosing her in one spot. It's strange to think that he didn't want to use the shears to clip her wings yet she knew, deep down, that he believed that his little lady would remain docile and meek in the lone tower.

Months ago she had been gardening under the brilliant sun in the lowlands. Her porcelain white hands were gently tending to the roses in her garden that had become increasingly unpopular to everyone in the area. It wasn't of great surprise that she received a letter proposing that she return to England for some time. Reluctantly she packed her belongings and left the letter carefully placed in her drawers.

Upon docking in the English ports, it was slightly wracking that Arthur did not personally accompany her on the ride back to his home. This should have meant something to the ignorant her of months ago.

Only the scratching of pen on paper could be heard in Arthur's office. His gaze strictly focusing on the papers before him and not the supposed guest he requested. After the painfully long hour of overbearing silence, the Briton quirked his brows and an unsettling expression drew across his face.

Coldly he commanded for her to sit in the seat opposite to him while he slowly stood. His figure towered over hers and he slowly brought his face closer to hers.

"I am sure you are quite aware as to why you are here, correct?"

The question had confused the lass as she never imagined that there would be anything that she had done wrong. She had been the ideal colony that had a splendid combination of imperialism and enlightenment yet something was horribly wrong.

"No sir, I do not."

"Oh? Are you feigning ignorance now? You should be quite aware of the fact that I deplore liars."

"I am indeed aware of your feelings towards liars alike, but I have yet to hear your explanation as to why you are displeased over something I am not aware of."

The deathly silence created a suffocating shroud that was choking the young miss. A harsh click of the tongue by the man in front of her seemed incredibly loud.

Bringing both of his calloused hands to cup her cheeks, piercing verdant eyes demanded complete and total attention as he began to speak in a silent whisper, "I don't want to lose you."

Her eyes widened with disbelief and before she could utter her reply, Arthur continued to speak.

"I don't want to lose you to that ne'er-do-well to the south of you," he quietly spoke. The awkward atmosphere had quickly turned to the worst when a sick idea played well into the Englishman's eyes. "No, I won't lose you my little bird. Do you know what cute little birds like yourself need? A cage to hide you from that awful eagle's talons."

"Arthur I-"

"Hush hush," he sweetly, too sickeningly sweetly, sung into her ear. "It isn't your fault but _his_."

Madison did not retort that this was all Arthur's fault for the uprisings because the moment called for sin. She remained quiet in the chair as Arthur brings her to his chest, gently embracing her.

That was where her memories stopped of that day.

The next time she woke up, her world had already changed. She found herself in that tower.

Arthur's visits in the beginning few months were less frequent as they were now. Back then she would scream in disgust, throwing whatever insult she could in an attempt to break his proud visage... but it never worked.

When Arthur simply didn't like her tone, he would immediately leave and ignore the girl, leaving her alone, isolating her from contact so that she would only see him.

Now, the visits were as frequent as ever before in the last month or so as Madison's mood became more... favourable.

It had become an odd habit of his whenever he entered to loom over her and comb her hair, arranging it in any style he deemed fit. Some days he would let it down and others, he would set it into an elaborate style.

The room would be silent for majority of the part. On rare occasions, that became too frequent now, Arthur would hum to himself. It was in a cheery tone, never hummed to slow or fast, which made the Canadian quiver.

At one point, Arthur even joked about his humming of the tune she knew as Alouette which earned him a meek chuckle.

Around the New Year, Arthur came into the room rather pleased with himself.

"I'm sure you're quite aware of what has happened but I felt it would be best for me to personally inform you of what has occurred in my colonies of Lower and Upper Canada. The traitors have been rounded about and will be executed for their treasonous acts towards the Crown."

The only reply he got were eyes filled with disbelief.

Letting her tend to her own thoughts, Arthur left the room.

It was no longer necessary for her to keep her in the tower and Madison spent her days in Arthur's study under his unwavering watch. Conversation between the two still was strenuous. The situation played like this for a year.

That was until Arthur once more informed her of something pertaining to the lands she represented.

"The man I sent to investigate the causes of the rebellions has given me a report on how to fix whatever your silly people are stressing about. In accordance to this, Lower and Upper Canada will be united."

Madison slowly nodded to show she understood. She stopped doing so upon his next statement.

"Your French people," he spat, "don't have a real culture so I believe it to be of the utmost importance that you rid of any of your disgusting ties to that frog. Therefore, you are to support assimilating the French to be proper British subjects as the British are supreme."

She slightly winced at how cold and harsh his voice had become. Rage welled deep within her as she refused to lose the only tie she shared with the man who was her family.

Her voice never faltered as she spoke out of turn in the eerily quiet room.

"What is it that possesses you to do things you do?"

"You and only you, my dear."

And that was when she broke.

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><p>AN: ...I'm going to go cry in the corner now. Please excuse me.

Thoughts on this? Like? Dislike? Should I only do fluff or should I make all my drabbles depressing?


	3. Subtle

A/N: I wonder if any of my readers out there think I'm slightly psychotic. If any of you think I am, you maybe, just maybe, be onto something that even I'm not aware about.

To my lone reviewer, thank you for your input.

Warnings: Potential OOCness (I'm not sure if I'm doing his character right since no one brings it up but to be safe, I'll include this), language, Canadian spelling, updates at random times, blurbs of Arthurcentrism (you honestly don't think I would have forgotten this term I spun, right?), etc...

Characters: Fem!Canada and England

Pairings: Mapletea (surprise, surprise!)

Word count: 2261

Disclaimers: Hetalia belongs to its respective owner. I merely slaughter his characters for my own sick amusement.

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><p><strong>Subtle<strong>

_In which Arthur is too embarrassed to be honest and forthright_

* * *

><p>Arthur has a bad habit.<p>

That's all there is too it.

No one is sure how this trait came to surface.

It's a nice contrast to his younger years but even then... it's really different. There is no blending of the two unless you wish to shred his standoffish appearance. Maybe then you'll see the true man. The man who was an empire so vast that controlled a quarter of the world.

And you'll see the true visage beneath it.

Oh what horrors lay beyond that opaque facade.

Arthur knows this.

He knows of his limits.

His power.

His evils.

He knows it too well as he played a hand in sculpting the world while other colonies and countries were struggling to survive or emerging.

His colonies... why yes his colonies.

He sculpted those too, you know.

Using only the clay of the highest standard, the British standard.

Nothing can compare, really. Truly and utterly.

But let us digress from this dreary topic.

He has a bad habit.

A horribly, completely, truly and utterly bad habit.

You see, he isn't straightforward but can be rather blunt at times.

He speaks when spoken to but if you aren't to his level of conversation then kindly piss off. It was as simple as that.

He is easily riled up by the slightest of annoyances but could fall to his knees when he found himself in the engulfing shrouds of despair.

Such a strange man Arthur Kirkland is.

Especially when he is in love.

As mentioned before, Arthur can be quite blunt when he's comfortable. It is of great shame that he's always in a mess when pursuing his romantic interest.

It had been well over a hundred years since he first met his beloved Madison (and no she did not belong to that fat ass twat).

It had been after the American Revolution that he gave her his undying attention and came to appreciate each detail.

He would pride on how young lass had grown up so fast under his supervision. Unlike a certain frog, he did it right.

Though as time passed by (it always did and you couldn't stop those moments of true bliss), Madison became more and more beautiful.

It was to be expected as those of General Winter's family were as beautiful as fresh snow but Madison seemed to stick out the most.

Sure the siblings of Russia were handsome but nothing ever pierced his heart like her ethereal beauty.

These thoughts often consumed him until he finally discovered the source of his feelings.

It was love.

Now it might be ridiculous to say he has discovered love for the first time, which he has not, but to have feelings for his charge of all people threw him into disarray.

He wanted her.

Not just her lands but her heart.

He had her lands and her heart in the palm of his hand but he wanted more. A heart was no good if it couldn't give him what he coveted, her love.

Madison was too green (he darkly chuckled at this thought as his Madison is the white of snow. Green wouldn't do justice) for something like love.

This still doesn't deter him from using strings to guide her fate because if he didn't do it, she would be gone forever and Arthur refuses to ever let that happen.

Each string he controls safely returns to him but it isn't what he wanted.

So he tries with his Victorian etiquette (and the girl was fabulous at mastering its art quickly).

He doesn't have to go through the painful attempts of meeting her as he is her guardian and can skip most steps that demanded for a chaperone to ensure that they never went too far (unless she wanted it and Arthur could never deny her if she wanted because she had been ever so loyal).

Everything falls apart.

He receives the signals he wants when he talks to her – her fan, fully open, waved quickly with her right hand close to her face. Surely she was in love with him to pull such a gesture but her advances stopped there as she never dropped her parasol, or put either the tip or handle to her lips once during their walks.

It was frustrating.

Their conversations were incredibly close and Arthur is unsure whether she tells him everything because of his position or whether she truly loves him.

He goes on a leap of faith and presents her with new gloves.

She wears it to church and Arthur swells in happiness because she wore them.

This happiness only lasts for a matter of seconds as she walks up to him and gleefully states, 'Thank you for the gloves. They really are nice.'

Arthur later wrings his daisies, white lilacs and white roses in a crumbled mess of petals and stalks. Innocence and naïvety are too much.

He waits a little more than a century to try again. Surely manners would change that would allow him to be more forward.

They do but instead of wooing the girl he likes, he ends up signing some blasted paper to acknowledge her complete independence.

He laughs it off and only after her new constitution is passed (she even had the audacity to have him pass one in French too), he returns to his normal life.

His heart has a heavy and dull sensation to it.

He had endured enough from his (now former) colony and carelessly prunes his treasured red rose bush to smithereens (and only later does he regret it when Madison frets over their state and looks at him all doe-like and teary).

Maybe Madison didn't want to be his but he was too stubborn to stop loving her.

He smashes his heart and hides the pieces in a box keeping it in a secret place that no one would ever find.

Years pass and he slowly acknowledges their familial relationship. He watches her from the shadows but has no heart to feel anything.

Yet more time passes and she's off doing her own thing. At one point he becomes desperate and showers her doorstep with flowers on the day of her birthday (it wasn't because she got tulips from a certain wanker).

Everything changes when Madison decides to visit for a week in his home in London.

Arthur remained a recluse in his study, only coming out for meals and personal necessities. Madison seemed fine with his behaviour, doing whatever she pleased.

On her last day though, she practically dragged the Englishman from his study and asked for a simple tour to which he replies no. Her reply was as simple as ever, she manhandled him into his coat, grabbed an umbrella and dragged him around town by his tie.

After five minutes of indignant blubbering, funny looks from oncoming strangers and the fact he looked downright ridiculous having to arch his back since she was still insistent on carrying him around in this matter, Arthur abruptly stopped their movements, retracting his back to proper position, and stared at his former charge.

"I can walk fine by myself so kindly release your grip on my tie. It'll wrinkle," he mumbled, a fine red blush settled nicely on the tips of his ears.

"Hmm, I'm not convinced in the slightest. For all I know, you'll turn back home and lock me out. Prove that you won't," she coolly replied while a smirk drew across her rosy lips.

A strange sensation engulfed the Briton as he snatched the hand that held his tie firm and interlocked his fingers with her own as their hands fell to their respective sides.

"Better?" His question, reasonable enough as it was, sounded harsh as it escaped his mouth.

"Ehhh," she drawled out in a rather whiney voice, "I'm not too sure. I was thinking of something else but this will have to do!" She giggled and before Arthur could voice his rebuttal, he was promptly forced to resume their little parade.

Arthur did not understand why the girl- no not a girl anymore- woman was so incessant on touring London when she knew the place just as well as he did.

Whatever tour they were having, it sure wasn't led by the Englishman himself as the Canadian decided to be a crafty minx and take a horribly packed double-decker. She knew the only mode of public transit he would use is the subway when feeling environmentally conscious or taxi when he wasn't.

But here they were shoved so close together on some packed bus filled with tourists. They had hit a snag earlier on the road and he had immediately wrapped his arms around her slender frame, holding her close. The intimacy of the action caused a foreign, no, nostalgic feeling as his heart slowly thrummed. A lighter one soon found itself in sync with the one caged within him.

After the third stop, her hands slowly found themselves encircling the Briton's midsection as she nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. Arthur let out a muffled gasp that was drowned by the constant noise in the bus. A few onlookers whistled and his face, particularly his cheeks, seemed to burst into flames as they felt incredibly warmer by the second.

By what seemed to be a painfully long ride, they finally arrived at their first destination.

Arthur inwardly groaned as he looked at their stop- The London Eye. He couldn't help but be somewhat irritated by the thing since visiting nations would always beg him to treat them to the blasted thing. It was adorable when Madison and he would visit, but anyone else?

_Never. _

At least Madison was interesting to talk to and not gallivanting about the passenger capsule with a camera.

It's bloody awkward when they do that, especially since it's just them.

Arthur was jolted out of his thoughts as two small hands firmly held his calloused ones and tugged him along to jump the queue.

He was thankful that Madison had booked in advance as he did not want to hear the constant chime of Big Ben. The darn thing did have a wondrous talent of shattering his drowned-out thoughts.

Upon entering the gondola, Arthur inwardly sighed as he sat down on the wooden bench along with the Canadian. He quirked one of his massive brows as a champagne bottle with two glasses was set.

"It's a tad too early to be drinking, love," he sighed. Getting drunk now would not earn any merits and he would feel quite nauseous for the rest of the day. "And now isn't really the time for truffles either."

"Oh? I know...I...umm," she began to fidget as she slowly nibbled on her lip as her thumbs slowly twiddled.

It was downright adorable but Arthur kept that to himself.

"Uhh... well... you know that this is..."

The last few words were nothing more than a mumbled whisper.

"Can you repeat that? I can't hear you properly if you don't speak up," he quietly teased and recoiled slightly to prepare for an incoming blow that never came.

His forehead creased as stared at her.

She remained still for a few moments before her hand moved to grab her bag.

The only sound that could be heard was the rummaging of items and, for Arthur anyway, his painfully loud heart beating.

Finally grabbing what she wanted, she held out pristine gloves. They looked oddly familiar.

She extended her other hand and grabbed his own, placing the objects in his palm. She ran her thumbs over his fingers and began to speak.

"This really is a bad habit of yours."

She wasn't giving Arthur direct eye contact as her focus was diverged on the article.

"When it comes to everything else, you are quick to answer and state your views but when it comes to liking someone, you're a tad slow."

She let out an airy sigh.

"I thought gentlemen were to take the lead when waltzing. But here I am almost 200 years from that era leading you across town."

"Madison I-"

"Don't interrupt. I'm taking the lead today. I thought we already established that." Her mocking tone quickly became cheery as she continued, "You know if you were a bit blunt towards matters that concern love, I wouldn't feel so stupid for planning one-sided dates half the time."

"I-"

His reply was cut off as she continued, her lips forming a pout.

"But no. You had to be difficult and never even reworded your proposal! How was I supposed to know if you were making advances or not when you skipped and bushed around the lines of etiquette?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. It really is. But...umm..." she quickly shook her head and took a deep breath.

"Arthur, I love you."

Shocked verdant eyes stared into deep mauve ones looking for any signs of malice or distrust.

"That's another bad habit of yours. You're too quick to judge."

"And yet you love me, the man claimed for being cynical and odd."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"A lady isn't supposed to throw herself at a man and be blatant about her feelings. You should have been a bit more forward."

Arthur winced. The girl really knew what she was doing back then.

Madison shuffled over and rested her head on his shoulder. His head tilted towards her in response as he placed small kisses on the back of her hand.

"Madison?"

"Yes."

"I love you too."

And the Ferris wheel continued to turn slowly.

* * *

><p>AN: I love how I start psychotic but end with cheese puffs, corn and cotton candy. I can't even call this thing a drabble. You all must be disgusted with me but I'll just say good day to you.

Apparently you can book a 'Cupid's Capsule' and have a date between you and your lover on the London Eye. You get served Pommery Brut Royal Champagneand aluxury box of Charbonnel et Walker pink champagne truffles by the host.

Victorian era etiquette:

Fan wide open – love

Fan with right hand in front of face – come on

Fan slowly – I am independent

Dropping the parasol – I love you

Do you love me? – touch tip to lips

Kiss me – handle to lips

A gentleman would present his lover with gloves and if she wore it to church, it signified she accepted his marriage proposal.

Comments and criticism would be loved. I honestly want to know how I can get better so any piece of advice would be love.

I am going to start posting random drabbles that are too short to post here on my Tumblr account. I doubt they'll be any good but whatever. I'll link my account on my profile but you don't have to read it. Do as you see fit.

I will warn you that I'm an incredibly boring person. All blunt and cold if you say. Humour was never my forte...


	4. Cheat

A/N: Sorry for dying for a long time. My interest with Hetalia has been on a swing and I've been writing a few drabbles for Devil Survivor 2.

I wanted to try something new with this prompt. Enjoy my tale of woes and joys.

Warnings: Potential OOCness, Canadian spelling, language, updates at random times, genderbending, etc...

Characters: Fem!England (Almira) and Fem!Canada

Pairings: Mapletea (with a hint of Nyotalia)

Word count: 925

Disclaimers: I don't Hetalia or Nyotalia. The world should rejoice!

* * *

><p>The parchment is blank, the ink freshly made.<p>

She dips her quill, the nib worn from years of use. Her hand does not grip the object to the point where it'll shatter, or too gently in fear that the idea nestling inside her brain may leave through the tips of her fingers.

Almira sighs.

It wasn't right for a lady of her stature to do this, but she doesn't care.

She places her quill on the paper but does not write. Resting in one spot, it causes a blotch to spread.

All of her inspiration is sucked away and she can only mutter curses.

With a click of her tongue, she shreds the parchment to pieces.

The idea is gone, in pieces like the parchment.

She takes her index finger and traces the knots and whorls on her desk, all splattered with ink from decades ago.

Each blob represented a story, but she does not want to recall the past. She wants to look to the future and leave that child in the shadows.

She stands up, the ornate chair squealing in protest as it moves back against the floor boards, and wanders about her study.

Her hand skims the leather bound books, in mint condition just like how she received them centuries ago.

Almira continues her solitary parade around her study until she stops at her grandfather clock. She brings her hand to her forehead and sighs in relief.

Afternoon tea would be served and she was thankful for that. Who knew how long she would be like this until she had her tea? It always did help her to relax.

She walks back to her desk, head held up high, as if she wishes to impress someone and delicately sits down.

Her hands reach for a drawer and she pulls out a few sheets of paper and spreads them about her desk to hide the fact that she had done nothing for the past two hours.

It wasn't as if she had shirked off her duties. It was far from that actually as she had been ahead of her work and had finished before she was presented with a light lunch of her favourite variety.

The bell tolls and resounds in the room. Almira furrows her brows as the sound is rather loud but quickly resumes her stoic face as there is a single knock on the door.

"Forgive me for disturbing your work," the voice pleads as figure enters the room. "I thought it would be refreshing to have Earl Grey and blueberry scones today."

Almira doesn't look up as Madison arranges the snack, pretending to resume her work.

She only looks up when the lady before her sits herself down.

Her heart beats quickly, and Almira is thankful that the ticking noise from the clock is unbearably loud and hides the thumping from her chest.

She quietly enjoys her snack and only becomes more annoyed by the second as inspiration strikes her.

Her eyes wander from the tea to the woman in front of her.

Fair wavy hair framed her face and her porcelain skin glimmered in the stray strands of light that struck her in the most magnificent of ways. Her deep mauve eyes, long eye lashes topped off with high rosy pink cheek bones and soft plump lips completed a look that made her ethereal. It was like staring at a fine china doll that should be kept in the middle of a display – the first doll you would ever lay your eyes on and certainly the last.

Her heart clenches as her inspiration sings of eternal beauty and fleeting love.

Urgency pervades her lest her ink covered pen never meet paper to forever be recorded.

She quickly finishes tea and notes of the flicker of worry that was once present in the other's eyes mentally.

Almira scolds herself for acting out of character.

Madison leaves the room and Almira can only scramble to find blank parchment.

Her perfectly inked quill's tip meets the rough surface but her hand does not move. An ebony splotch sears into the paper and her inspiration burns.

She can only curse the woman who leaves her like this- the cheating leanan sidhe that does not play to her role like she should.

Almira can only spin tales that don't even touch the brink of reality and she chuckles to herself.

That is not like her leanan sidhe so she can only fight down impure thoughts of her being a cheating wench. A fairy of this breed would never stray from their masters.

Then the cloud of realization rains on her.

A leanan sidhe's role is purely artistic; they never betray, and so she rings the bell, calling for her fairy, only a tad resentful for not decorating her room to appeal to her kind.

Anticipation consumes her heart and it is painful as each knock on the door is drawn out with the turning of the knob.

The fairy walks in, stuttering and blushing, and Almira can only worry that she has ruined her fair creature for not giving it enough love.

She kindly asks for Madison to sit down.

It is odd and Almira sighs at how undisciplined and green her fairy is, but that will change in the long hours of the future.

And so she begins to write about her beloved leanan sidhe.

This one is hers and she can no longer regretfully say that she has not efficiently borrowed her beauty as her energy drains away over the years.

* * *

><p>AN: To those who thought I was only going to have Fem!Canada x England, you must all be surprised but I like switching things up. It all depends on my mood.

I gave Fem!England the name Almira as it means aristocratic lady or princess. I thought it was... fitting in a way. Just like how Madison can mean strong warrior.

I'll just describe what a leanan sidhe is for those who aren't well informed of their Celtic folklore:

They are like fairies and elves but have the appearance of a beautiful woman. Lovers of this creature live short but inspired lives. By having a leanan sidhe, you must give it your love and devotion which usually causes the artist to go mad and die an early death.

As always, comments, criticisms and questions are welcome.

Also, I apologize to people that have read the drabbles on my tumblr and are swamped with pictures of food or DeSu 2 drabbles.


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